


Blood of My Blood

by MeeMaw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Some angst, a bit of everything, boat baby, little to no plot, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 11:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeeMaw/pseuds/MeeMaw
Summary: Events leading up to the discovery of Dany's pregnancy by Jon.





	Blood of My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration - "Volantis may call itself the first daughter of Vayria, but it is not the last."
> 
> Predominantly, Jon's POV.

_Wars_ , he understands. He understands death too. How many men can claim _that_ feat? He can run into a battle with only a sword in his hand and effortlessly cut the enemy to pieces, strike down the fiercest of warriors; both the undead and the living. How ironical that he has wielded a Valyrian Steel sword ever since he became a brother of the Night’s Watch but he’s afraid of the last known daughter of the Valyrian dragonlords. _As any sane man should be._ Although, it’s not her dragons or her queer followers or the mystical tales surrounding her that scare him. He has witnessed his fair share of magic, seen dead men fall to their deaths and charge at him with a vengeance.

 _It’s what he feels for her._ A new emotion, one that he was never meant to feel. He was meant to live out his days at the Wall, not court the Dragon Queen.

He doesn’t remember when that desire took root. Was it on the first day in the throne room, or the day she allowed him to mine obsidian, or the day she rode into the battle trusting him with the command of her ancestral seat, or the day she returned victoriously and reminded him how power is a terrible thing but it’s a healing balm in the hands of the right man, _nay, woman_. Did that happen later? When she rescued him and the men who had followed him beyond the Wall.

Realizing that it doesn’t have to be one instance or the other, he accepts that he has never felt the way he feels in that moment and hopes that she too feels the same for him.

Straightening his back, Jon knocks on Daenerys’ door.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I just… I want to be here.” He says, glancing at her face and then looking away, stationing his gaze on the candle that lit by her bed.

She smiles and her eyes drift to the floor. She looks back up at him, “I think, I may have felt the same.. whatever this is, you’re not alone in it.”

Jon reaches out to touch her then, takes her face in his palms and kisses her on the lips. A dance of lips and sharp teeth, a dance of the dragon and the wolf. Jon wants to tell her that the spices taste richer on her lips, the wine, sweeter, her skin softer than he has imagined, the feel of her pressed against him… incomparable. _Everything that came before this moment seems wrong,_ he wants to say but needs her too much and tosses his armor and boots aside before scooping her off the floor with an arm under her knees and another under her back, carrying her to the bed.

 

 

 

Somewhere between Dragonstone and White Harbor, they fall through time, days and weeks become a blur and they keep falling - for each other, in love.

A day away from the White Harbor, they lay naked in each other’s arms, Dany straddling one of his thighs with her weight partially resting atop him. Jon closes his eyes. “I was a man of the Night’s Watch. I was not meant to fall in love with anyone. Then I became a King and, _love_ never occurred to me. I was still just a shield that guards the realms of men.”

“Is it such a burden, loving me?” she glares at him and raises her chin from his chest.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jon smiles, combing her hair away from her face with his blunt nails. “Guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to leave this ship. I’m a bit more than a bloody sword or a mere defender of lands and people when I’m here with you.”

She observes him lovingly. “I understand it may be nothing to you, but to me, you’ve always been more than your name or your title.” She then sighs, “I’m a queen, I’m not supposed to fall in love with anyone either. My hand in marriage is a political currency, to be wielded as a warrior wields a weapon. In a way, we’re all encumbered by our titles.”

Jon winces at the mere thought of anyone else claiming her as theirs and tightens his arms around her. In one swift move, he flips her over and braces his knees between her legs. “Fuck titles. What we are to each other, it's _everything_ to me." His hand caresses her skin, "Dany, do you ever fear this could be our last time?” He bemoans and then lavishes her with hungry kisses.

“Are you always this optimistic, my love?” she frowns and brings her hands to his shoulders, pulls him and playfully bites on the ridge of his taut muscle, making him laugh with unfathomed serenity.

Jon slants her face close to him, pressing their bodies together he groans, “I want to remain inside you all night. I want this moment to last forever.”

Dany bites down on her lip, in her efforts to curb an enticing smile that she has learned is a frailty of her lover. “I’ll lay very still, I promise. I reckon, then you won't miss _this_ too much when we're not together.”

“As if I would ever forget the feel of you” he bites out; every passing moment making him more and more anxious about whatever awaits them at the end of that night. In his heart, he earnestly wants to stifle that amber of ruin before it incinerates whatever little time they have left.

“Jon, don’t,” she warns, “whatever it is, we’d face it together, remember?”

“Aye” he smiles mirthlessly and then, a tether snaps and his eyes darken. “I know it’s unfair that we found love when the world is coming to an end. But I’m grateful for it, it’s better than not finding it ever.” Jon kisses her deeply on the lips and lids his eyes, searching for that ugly speck of uncertainty in his soul that he fears will entrap him; that never happens when he’s with her. “Right now, Dany,” he rasps, reaching between their bodies, Jon dips his fingers in her dripping sex, keeping his aching manhood from coming in touch with her thigh, “right now, I want to take you and make you mine.” He withdraws his finger and brings it to his lips, sucking her sweet nectar as if it were a life-giving potion. Dany moans at the sight and wraps her legs around his back, “What are you waiting for then?” she growls.

Jon cants her hips and curls an arm under her for balance, wraps his hand around his cock and circles it before easing it into her soaking womanhood. Dany luxuriates in every sliver of his hardness slowly sliding between her soft petals and opening her like a flower. She reaches for his arms, bracing herself for balance, for his strength, for the wolf he’s to unleash on her. His movements are passionate and delightful, they're also harsh and intense, his thumbs roll the tips of her breasts to the point where they are pleasantly aching; she whimpers and gasps with every touch.

Jon keenly watches her half-lidded eyes, _she’s near,_ he can tell from the strain on the veins of her neck and the curve of her lips. Her nails are scraping over his shoulders and hips hold themselves against him. He also knows she’ll sink back into the mattress right _after_. So he sharply pulls her hips against his before shifting to a grinding pace.

“Oh, Jon..” she moans before a constellation of nerve ending explode inside her and he can feel her walls clamping him, milking him for his seed. “Come for me, Dany..” he rasps, “take me” before slamming himself into her as hard as she can take him without complaining. He cloaks her chalice with his seed and not for the first time, Dany feels a burgeoning heat inside her womb, a heat that is becoming more and more intense with every encounter. Not that she pays any mind to it, not even when Jon’s manhood emerges out of her and lays limp against her womb, smearing it with the fluids of their lovemaking; fluids that are half him and half her. _I will never bear a living child_ , she remembers.

 

 

 

Merely days after they leave the New Castle, a terrible storm has engulfed the North and forced them to make camp for longer than they ought to.

Jon finds himself in Dany’s tent. “I couldn’t..”

“I’m glad you came. I’d have come to you if you hadn’t and risked your Northern bards proclaim me a whore who seduced their King.”

“Bards have lost their eyes and tongues for less.” Jon fumes and his discomfort with the _word_ is visible in his flexed jaw. His hand comes around her waist, his chest presses against hers and she winces. “Ouch” Dany slaps his arms and pulls away, “you came prepared for a battle?”

Jon doesn’t understand. He has _touched_ her much _harder_ than this in the past, nevertheless, he blames his leather armor that has weathered under the freezing northern winds. “Sorry,” he smiles apologetically and proceeds to remove the offending pieces.

They have often tried to remind each other that they want their alliance to appear a political one until they reach Winterfell and then, give a name to the love they have for each other.

Jon pretends he does not remember any of it because the feeling of Dany in his arms as they cuddle and his hardness pressed between her behind, his balls falling on her thighs is what he needs.

“Can you be very quiet?” he whispers in her hair before he positions his jutting hardness against the slit between her legs.

Dany nods and takes his hand that’s cradling her breasts and kisses it. “If I scream, you know what to do.” She turns her face briefly and whispers with a wink.

Laying on his side, with his chest pressed against her back, Jon takes her from behind; huffing softly against her ear when he gathers pace and curls his hand over her mouth so the men stationed outside wouldn’t hear. He muffles his own groans in her neck and spends himself the moment she crests around him. Dany experiences a sharp pain rippling through her lower regions and he can feel her flinch, “Dany? You alright?” he voices his concern. “I’m fine” she dismisses and smirks, “been too long, I suppose.”

He doesn’t believe her truly but decides against prodding her and risk annoying her for his insistence. “You’ll tell me if anything were wrong. Wouldn't you?” he pleads and she replies with an affirmative shake of her head and slumps her back into his chest, swatting him from playing with her nipples as he always so fondly did on the boat before drifting into a slumber.

 

 

 

Two days' ride away from the Winterfell and Jon misses the morning warmth of Dany’s body. Mind still hazy from the lack of sleep and their earlier proclivities, he looks around for her and lurches out of bed upon not finding her in the tent. Propriety and politics long forgotten, he hastily dresses and steps outside the tent, startling the guard on duty. “Where’s the Queen?” the anxiety in his voice is barely disguised.

The Unsullied soldier points to the woods and whatever Valyrian Jon has picked up during his stay at Dragonstone, he understands that Missandei and a maidservant have accompanied Dany in that direction. Realizing that she doesn’t often wander too far, he panics when the wait becomes unbearably long. He is about to command a search party when a known companion, a godly, white presence whizzes past his eyes. It runs back into the woods and Jon begins walking towards it in anticipation. He’s at the edge of the forest when Dany and the wolf emerge out of the woods, Missandei, and the maid closely following them.

“Thank the Gods!” Jon sighs, looking at them both. He ruffles the mane of his beloved direwolf and was about to pull Dany to his chest when some commotion catches his attention. The Unsullied had formed a wall and were about to march for their Queen’s defense. Dany raises a hand to stay them and orders retreat.

Concern writ all over his face, “You alright?” Jon asks softly.

“I return with _your_ direwolf and that’s what you wish to know?” She humors him, not meeting his eyes when she speaks. “Let’s break camp and march.” She says as Ghost walks between the two of them.

Jon nods.

_What is it, Dany? What is it that you can't tell me?  
_

 

 

 

“Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son.” He speaks aloud. Not to her, to himself. His identity. His _true identity._ He cackles and fears it’s another lie he's being told.

“Does that bother you?” she asks.

“What part?”

“You always wanted to be a Stark.”

Jon shakes his head and pulling the gloves off his hands, flexes it. “I’m not a Stark. Never was. Snow is fine.”

Dany spreads her arms and beckons him to bed. He sheds his clothing and with only his nightshirt over him, slides into the bed with her.

“Did you find anything in the library?” He wonders.

“Nothing yet, Sam says we must keep looking. Gilly and little Sam help me plenty.”

Jon hums. “You haven’t gone out on Drogon in past few days. I'm not fragile, don't fret over me.”

“No, I haven’t. We can go together on the morrow.” She pretends reading the tome and when Jon crosses his hands over his chest, she asks again, “Jon, I know you're brave, the bravest man there is. But I need to know if you're alright.” Setting the tome aside, she slides next to him and a hand comes over his heart, “It’s not nothing. It’s like re-writing the beginning of a man's story.”

“My past is already written, the ink has dried on it. I don’t want to re-write my story, only ask the Gods for a future with you.”

Her heart aches for him, she regrets what she has been keeping from him, _oh the joy on his face shall be priceless_ , she knows. But winter has come and she has to fight it with fire and blood. There’s no safety for anyone including…. Tears prickle her eyes and sensing it, he pulls her to him.

He perceives there’s more than _that_ that's troubling her, or the least, _he thinks there's more_.

“I’m always there for you and I know, you’re for me.” He says and then looks at the ring on his finger, one she had presented him on their wedding. “The weight of this reminds me that you’re waiting for me, that I must return to you. I should give you something too.”

 _You already have,_ she wants to say. “I don't need reminding, my memory is sharper than yours.” She japes and teases him.

 

 

 

He dare not ask her, and he won't chance her feeling a bit less for not giving him what the Gods may have taken away from her forever. Sam remains non-committal. He says it could be true, he also says if he breaks the queen's trust, she may never confide in him again. Jon threatens his friend, then he pleads. Sam reminds him how a maester is sworn to secrecy. _Others take you, Sam. You aren't a bloody maester!  
_

Battle after battle, as Dany and Drogon take to the skies, Jon closes his eyes and wonders if at one point ignorance was truly bliss. He thanks the Gods ardently every time she dismounts Drogon and walks up to him on her own two feet. He’s glad for that small joy, the only joy he thinks he can afford, _a victory in itself._

What kind of a man leaves the protection of his _family_ in the hands of the Gods, he wonders. He also wonders if it’s all a dream he’s wishing were true.

 

 

 

Winterfell is lost and they march south. To make another stand and face the undead. After crossing the Neck, the swamps were set alight in order to delay the march of the foot soldiers in the Night King’s army. However, it’s not the foot soldiers that worry them. It’s the impending fight, the one _she_ has to win. The one between her sons, Drogon and the undead Viserion.

After two weeks on the road, they finally make camp. The cloth banners and the curtain of the tents flap wildly in the air, the loudness of the howling winds a living twin to the harsh struggle his soul is engaged in.

On retiring to their tent, Jon looks around and takes in the sight of the neatly stacked cloaks, riding gloves, leathers, chain mail that Dany wears under her leather armor, her boots, and, Rhaella’s ring that she has begun wearing around her neck in a chain.

“You’re in my clothes,” Jon tells her upon finding her abed.

“I find, I sleep easier in it. It’s warm and smells of you.” She tells him. “You don’t like it on me?”

“I love it,” he says, swiping a hand upon the quilted tunic, stopping right above her chest and groping her breasts in his palm. He slips his hand between the loose ties of the fabric and Dany lets out a soft whimper. “Jon.. it’s.. cold.. I can’t remove it..”

He drags the brazier closer to their cot and brings his fur cloak to lay around her. “You can, and you will,” he whispers in her ears, then pulls back and strips naked. “I’ll keep you warm, Dany.” He joins her in bed and hums when he kisses her on the mouth. “I have the entire night to get you out of it.” He groans as he parts her with his fingers and then slides his body down the cot. Spreading her legs around his head, he slips a finger inside her, then another and his mouth barely moves from _there_ when his lips suck the glistening folds and tongue rolls over her nub.

Dany moans in content and slender fingers tangle in his hair. Jon smiles to himself and rigorously circles above her nub, moving his fingers, curving them upwards to hit the exact spot that brings her to peak. He smirks when she jerks and cants her hips and her incoherent words stagger between Valyrian and the common tongue.

Aware of the increasing ache in his belly and the turgidity settling into his manhood, Jon crawls above her and begins unfastening the catches of the tunic she’s wearing. She cradles his face in her palms and forces his eyes to meet hers, "I love you." He does not answer and presses hungry kisses against the skin that becomes bare to him with every undone tie. First her pale neck, then her shoulders, the midriff, both her breasts, each more tender and delectable than the other, he sucks her pert tips till she mewls and they’re shimmering with his saliva, he then moves to kiss her ribs, then her navel, and lastly and most tenderly, the swell just below it. “Jon” she murmurs, both fearful and bashful.

Jon's heart flutters and he closes his eyes, the tears that had welled around them now falling freely over her womb.

“You know” Dany hiccups a sob.

“I suspected” Jon responds and kisses where their babe grew, ghosting his fingers gently over the pale skin.

“Are you angry?” she fears she may have pushed this too far.

“Funny thing fate is. This wretched world is crumbling all around me and I am the happiest man alive.” He looks into her eyes and settles above her, covering them both in dense furs but keeping his heaviness from weighing her down.

“I was going to tell you if I survived the battle with the Night King and Viserion.” She intones sadly. "I could not leave you alone in the world with a reminder that I have taken your babe with me."

Jon doesn't know what to say. He certainly would have liked to know much earlier. He pronounces with closed eyes, “You're no less precious to me, Dany. I could've died without ever knowing I left a part of me with you." Jon stares at her and swipes his thumb over her cheeks, "And no one's going anywhere. We’ll fight and we’ll win. Together, remember?” He kisses her then, pushing away all accursed thoughts from his own mind. "When you and I return on the morrow, Rhaegal and I shall pillage every castle and fort in five league radius for ale and wine and feast with our men!"

Dany chews her lips and wraps her arms around his neck. "You and Rhaegal must ask them nicely first. What kind of manners would your impart our babe, Jon?"

Jon pulls back to gaze at her, his hand slides to caress and cup the outlines of what can be seen with naked eyes now.

There’s a glint of fire in both their eyes and Dany withdraws her arms from the sleeves of the tunic, with Jon’s help, pulls it from under her and casts it aside. She then curls her hand around Jon's softening length, tugs at his shoulders and coaxes him onto his back. She strokes his length before sinking her mouth down it - deep, wet slurps sending him into a trance. His mind is blank, save her name. The euphoria of having her warm, moist mouth around his cock, and the blood pounding in his ears is all he feels till she ceases and straddles his legs. Dany breathes his name through her kiss-swollen lips when his girth stretches the path to her womb, sheathing him inside her with a squelching sound that sends blushes through her veins.

She rides him leisurely, and he wallows in the sight - his wife, and the blood of the wolf-maid and the scion of old Valyria she carries inside of her, _his babe. Blood of my blood.  
_

He places his hands on her hips and leans up to kiss her. “I love you both.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was quite skeptical about posting this but my tumblr buddy, @farrison-hord (OweMeOneKenobi on ao3), gave me courage! Thank you, FH ! <3


End file.
